


Jan Quadrant Vincent 16

by klaviergavout



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Gen, here it is, the one the only jan quadrant vincent 16
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-07-27 04:52:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7604197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klaviergavout/pseuds/klaviergavout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Jan-Michael Vincents. You were born into this world as what the weak call vigilantes, what the government call criminals, and what the citizens will call saviours." In a world where there's eight Jan-Michael Vincents, and 16 quadrants, there's only enough time for a Jan-Michael Vincent to make it to a quadrant; he can't be in two quadrants at once.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

"Morty, Morty, come look what's on TV!"

It's been an incredibly exhausting week for Morty Smith. Exam after exam has plagued his last few days, and even his grandfather who despised school had made him sit through those boring tests, despite injecting him with the answers just a couple hours beforehand. Technically, he often tells himself, he hadn't cheated. Rick had cheated _for_ him. He had even pretended he didn't know a few of the answers, and intentionally got a few wrong, just to make it fair.

Still, it had tired him out, and he slumps down on the sofa, rubbing his half-lidded eyes.

"Y-Yeah, Rick, what is it? I was gonna go have a nap, actually. I'm a little bummed out after mock week."

"Screw sleep, Morty. Haven't you ever heard the phrase, 'sleep is for the weak'? Well, it's true. Don't be a weak little bitch, Morty. Come watch this awesome movie that you totally haven't been wanting to see since last year but we never got a chance to see it because we both completely forgot about it until just now."

Morty took a while to process what Rick meant, but as soon as his eyes focus on what is showing on the TV, his mouth gapes wide open. "Holy shit, Rick! It's Jan Quadrant Vincent 16!"

Rick laughs, putting his arm around Morty's shoulder and pulling him closer. "Heck y-yeah, Morty, you _bet it is!_ You still got that Jan Quadrant Vincent fever?"

"Of _course!_ "

Rick's grin slowly fades as he realises something. "Oh, man, I forgot. Quick, quick, shut up and get our secret snack stash from the garage. We'll need it. I heard this shit is three hours long."

"Oh boy, oh boy, Rick, I'm hyped for this, I really am."

"Me too. Look, I've got it paused. Go get the food, Morty."

"Jan Quadrant Vincent, hu--"

"God, Morty, when I say, go get the food, I mean it. _Go get the goddamn food._ "

"Yeah, OK, Rick, whatever you say, jeez."


	2. Eyes of the Innocent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I can't believe I'm writing Jan Quadrant Vincent 16. I can't believe no one else has already written Jan Quadrant Vincent 16. I hope you all enjoy this. I was planning to post this January of next year, but I have little to no patience whatsoever.
> 
> Thank you for all your support on my Rick and Morty stuff, it really makes me happy to see that people like my work, or at least want to give it a read.

After a good five minutes of opening credits and copyrights, the film opens on a derelict, silent town. It is crammed with buildings yet almost devoid of all life, and the wind is heavy. Now and then, a coming gale will pick up dirt and dust from the ground, and scatter it through cobbled streets. Huddled here and there, in alleyways and street corners, in doorways and slums, are the lame and poor. They rely on themselves to survive, completely ostracised from the community, often turning to crime and prostitution for little more than a couple of schmeckles and some bread to eat.  
  
The sun is only just above the horizon. Gunshots and shouts can be heard in the distance. An old man weeps. A baby cries in its mother's arms.

A ghostly drone can be heard from above, and the eyes of the innocent turn slowly upward. The sun has been completely engulfed by a gigantic starship, and it is gliding above Quadrant B as if completely blind to the suffering and violence below. They begin to realise, with the guttural pain of helplessness, that the ship has nothing for them, and the malnourished citizens move on.

* * *

There is near silence, too, in the ship overhead. Inside, in its control room, it is just as dreary as its outer look, with dull grey walls and nothing but computer screens and wires taking up the most valuable space. Only on the desks of the technologists, hard at work, could you glimpse even a scrap of sentimental life and value: a faded black-and-white picture, a rare collectable bobblehead, a beloved He-Man figurine, a creased piece of paper on which the phone number of a friend's friend's sister had been hastily written down on. The only noises shattering the silence are the incessant taps of fingers on keyboards, the odd click of a computer mouse, and the blips and beeps of the modems and monitors around the room.

Suddenly, the doors slide open and a figure is there. And in this rush of movement and noise the hands of the technologists cease their quickfire typing and clicking until there is nothing but silence and the click, click, click of polished heels on a polished floor. Michaelis Spleen strides down into the centre of the room, and all three feet of him is the very epitome of intimidation. Once he has taken his position below the giant screen that fills the back wall, he begins to talk.

"Hello, team." Spleen's voice, although it sounds like ten dying cats being force-fed through a grater which is unfortunately lodged inside his throat, cuts through the silence like a rusty knife. "First of all, I'd like to congratulate you--"

_"Rick, Rick, Rick." Morty's eyes are wide and naive, and he's tapping his Grandpa Rick on the arm with the need for a quick response. The movie is paused on a shot of Michaelis Spleen's open mouth. "Th-That Spleen guy looks like the actor off TV, y'know, the one with the show where he steals all that stuff for Grapples. Y'know. Is it him?"_

_Rick takes an unimpressed glance at Morty, and a sip from his flask. "It's Brapples. And, duh, Morty, of course it's him. TV actors don't just stick with low-budget shows all their l-life. They have to branch out, Morty. Reach for the stars. Earn a living. It's what they have to do."_

_"Jeez, Rick, no need to be so serious. I just didn't expect him to go from the Adventures of Stealy to, well, Jan Quadrant Vincent."_

_"Lesson learnt, you shouldn't expect things from anyone, now shut the hell up. I hate pausing movies."_

_"Alright, alright."_

"--on your hard work. For the past year and a half you have all worked particularly well and shown a consistent amount of effort in your research and practices, and for that, you have my deepest respects."

Even Michaelis Spleen can't help but smile at the proud faces of his employees. Two years ago, the Jan-Michael Vincent program was formed with only himself and two other members. Since then it has prospered into an immense operation with over forty members of the team, thirty of which are beaming back at him at that very moment, successful and satisfied after a year and a half of constant toil and hard decisions.

"Second of all, I have been thinking for a long hard while about this, and I have come to my final decision." As he says these words, Spleen paces up and down, stopping finally at the middle of the screen behind him. "I have decided that we are to formally start the Jan-Michael Vincent program... _today._ "

There are multiple gasps throughout the room, and a quick murmur arises from the crowd. No one is smiling any more, whether it is through fear the plan will fail, or through intense consideration of the change. Michaelis Spleen, they all collectively notice, has never looked so determined in his entire, relatively short lifespan.

"Sir, if I may," a technologist pipes up, nervously adjusting his glasses, "we only have _eight_ Jan-Michael Vincents."

"Can they do what we have planned them to do? Are they physically fit? Are they just what the scum of this planet needs right about now? Yes. I don't see any kind of problem."

"I'm only worried, sir, that eight is not enough to solve the crises over multiple precincts. With four quadrants to a precinct, I doubt our eight Jan-Michaels will be enough to stop the problem; the vast majority of the 16 have reported incredibly high crime rates to the governing bodies, who are doing next to nothing about it."  
  
The technologist turns his head and finds that Michaelis Spleen is looking into his eyes with a ferocity he has never before shown. He takes a deep, shaky breath before continuing:

"We need more Jan-Michael Vincents, Spleen, he's the only hope humanity's got."

Michaelis Spleen stares into the eyes of the technologist for a very, very long time, taking very short, erratic breaths. After what seems like forever, he walks directly down the middle of the room towards the door, and the technologists turn back to their desks and hastily begin typing again.

The doors open. The typing stops.

"Get those Jan-Michael Vincents out of stasis, and bring them to _me._ "

The doors shut with a slam that never was there.

* * *

Michaelis Spleen stands an hour later in front of eight muscular, clean-shaven men, sporting grey tank tops, newly-pressed trousers and belts so tight that they could have suffocated a whale.

"Jan-Michael Vincents. You were born into this world as what the weak call vigilantes, what the government call criminals and what the citizens _will_ call saviours. You were born the smartest, strongest, most skillful men in the universe."

_Eight Jean-Michael Vincents._

"Being a Jan-Michael Vincent is not just who you are. It is a responsibility, passed down from the Jan-Michael Vincent of ages past, now onto you."

_Sixteen quadrants._

"Are you prepared to uphold the values of a Jan-Michael Vincent? Are you prepared to stand for the people of these precincts when no one else will?"

_Four precincts._

"Are you prepared to be one of us?"

_One man._

"Are you prepared to be a hero?"

* * *

The title flares up on-screen- **JAN QUADRANT VINCENT 16** \- and no longer is it just a movie, it is a call to arms.


End file.
